Look.
Observe.
Then choose:
Be the prey,
Or be the predator—
Whichever fits your skin today.

Smile, frown, laugh—
Only as deserved.
I don’t serve emotion
Where it hasn't been earned.

It's wise not to repeat history’s errs,
But it’s rare—
A soul bold enough
To seal itself
Or throw the dice
And feel anyway.

To be open—
Truly open—
Is a right well-earned.
To be open
Without deservation
Is a choice I sometimes make.

I juggle it all.
Dip my heart in waters,
Test each temperature,
To see which part of me fits this set.

When I’m open without a guard,
Consider it sacred—
A privilege.
Because understanding me?
That’s no basic math.

And when I take offense,
It means I see your redemption still.
Indifference?
Now that’s the true ****.

But the worst of it?
My zero.
The plastic smile,
The Barbie act,
Given graciously,
While I rot inside the wrap.

When I’m too agreeable,
When I grin too wide—
Trust,
It might just be
Distrust in disguise.

Because sometimes,
I gift you only
My poker face grace.

It’s a tradition all over,
They did it—now I’m meant to fold,
To drink the same bitter brew they swallowed,
As if pain were heirloom gold.

It tasted like bitter leaf,
When they could have picked spinach instead.
Why choose the thorned path of grief,
When sweetness blooms just ahead?

They called it fate,
They called it duty,
But I call it what it truly is—
The burial of beauty.

I won’t conform to the old design,
Not every story ends in tears.
Nothing is impossible to redefine,
Not when courage outshines fears.

Their ideas creep like poison ivy,
Climbing fast, choking breath.
But I, I step aside—
I won’t go blind into that depth.

I deserve a candy cane,
Not another link in a chain.
I deserve love that doesn’t drain,
Not masked as honour, not soaked in pain.

So if they say I must kneel
In unions void of care and grace,
I will rise, steel in my heel,
With fire in my place.

Even if I must fight the skies,
The earth, the storm, the sea—
Let it be known—I won’t accept
What steals the soul of me.

I will not take any lees.
Only wholeness.
Only peace.

People should learn
how to speak like the sun—
direct, warm, no shade unless asked.
Age doesn’t buy you the right
to sharpen your tongue
on someone else’s silence.

Tone cuts deeper than words,
sarcasm isn't seasoning—
it’s a slow poison
unless served in laughter between equals.
Otherwise, it’s a leash
meant to drag dignity through dust.

I’m no saint in this mess.
But even wolves remember
the sting of a snare.

At 6 o’clock,
life circles back
to feed us everything we dished—
sweet or sour.

So if someone’s good enough
to breathe the same air,
don’t hand them thorns
for picking flowers.

Cutesy isn’t weakness.
It’s grace.
And grace bites back
when least expected.

I've always wondered—
If baby carriers worn at six o’clock,
Or slings drawn close to the chest—
Which is better?
One cradles a mother’s aching spine,
The other calms a child’s frantic breath.

Does one weigh less,
Or simply feel lighter
Because love shifts the gravity?
Is it comfort or convenience,
A whisper to the world
Or a hush to the soul?

It’s like life—
One posture pleases the crowd,
The other holds you closer to yourself.

So tell me—
Which one would you be?
The back that bears with quiet strength,
Or the chest that beats with knowing warmth?
Would you give ease to others,
Or peace to your own aching pulse?

I wonder still—
But maybe,
Maybe I’d be both.

You imagine hands cradling you,
Lulling you into soft oblivion—
If you had that,
The real would seem useless,
An echo,
An extra limb.

But if you lacked it,
You’d claw at the real,
Cling to bone and breath,
Hoping the world
Would mirror your mind.

And guess what?
I’ve always had those arms—
In my head.
They held me when no one did.
Made me brave.
Made me distant.
Standoffish.
Steel-willed.

Still...
I wonder
What the real thing feels like.
Would it anchor me,
Or make me unravel?

Does that longing make me greedy—
Or just human?

It takes strength to look inside,
To figure your stand—
Your war, your battles,
And to surrender.

To understand that pain—
No matter the site,
The origin,
The type—
Still stings the same
When the world moves on without you.

To see you're the only one held back,
While life goes on like nothing cracked.
Your agony?
Whoosh—
Gone with the wind
Of other people's better days.

But it takes a hero—
A Hugo for you—
To know:
This is your fight alone.

That moving forward
Doesn’t always mean healing.
That sometimes,
Standing still
Is surviving.

I’ve always been a crooked road,
Lain with thorns,
While roses watched in silence from the side.
I let myself go—
Unraveled,
Each choice trembling
At the whisper that choice should bend
To circumstance.

They say I should shift—
Mirror the view.
But when I do,
The real me starts to panic.

She is a storm unprobed,
A force better left unnamed.
I walk contradiction—
Each truth I am
Cancels out another.

But still, I remain.

I won’t drain my cup
For hands that never pour.
And I don’t expect the same—
I don’t want to be poured from an empty cup too.

Top of my game,
Top of my aim,
Top of my speed —
You crave that.
Down on my game,
Down on me,
You shun that.

Silence. Echoes.
I love them.
They remind me
Of loneliness.

Dark clouds — those days —
Gift me
A clearer view
Of my circle.

Groveling through snow,
Through fog,
I understand
Why most company
Means nothing.

If I once gave
A Cheshire smile,
Played the jester —
I can't now.
Not until I’m fixed.

So when I get the urge
To saunter away —
Do you blame me?

Should you fill my shoes,
Or allow me
To make the decision
For us — alone?
Should you be my light
When it's pretty sketchy,
Or wait —
Hoping I fix myself?

Because maybe,
Just maybe —
To saunter past you
Is the best
I can do.

You were told —
You're rookies.
Interns.
Bottom of the food chain.
Nothing you do matters
Mainly by nobody's
Not your nights, not your notes,
Not the weight in your chest
When a patient won’t wake.
You all think you’ll change the world,
They laughed.
Fast forward—
Reality checked in cold scrubs.
Now you own everything.
If it’s broken,
It’s on you.
If it heals,
You get no name.
No thanks.
What’s wrong?
You.
What’s right?
You feel good, maybe.
But don't get cocky.
You keep tabs.
You pass info—
Forward, backward,
Up the chain,
Down the drain.
And maybe—
just maybe—
you won’t make a **** difference.
No statues,
No speeches.
No glory.
But if you do nothing...
If you bow out—
It might tinge your soul.
Not with fire.
But with a quiet,
Lasting rot.
So suit up.
You’re still a rookie.
But you showed up.
And that
still
means
something.

Being resurrected feels—
over the top.
Not a soft bloom from cocoon to wing,
but a clash—good and bad
in a lover’s war dance,
polar opposites snapping in place.

It doesn’t ease you,
it jolts.
Eyes torn open
to galaxies stitched in silence,
to a world behind this world,
or maybe beneath,
or maybe so small
it hums in your atoms.

You glimpse what most can’t—
a wisdom not taught
but poured,
an empathy not for them,
but born within—
a private ache,
a knowing.

It carries weight, yes,
but mostly,
liberation.

That this bubble—
this self-made sky—
is just big enough
to hold your world alone.

Just you.
And that is enough.

I'm different—
I get it.
I don’t speak the way you do,
I eat diversity for breakfast,
I don’t act like your mirror.

But I’m human.
Equally important.
Equally supreme.

Give it a rest—
I demand order.
I demand respect.
I should be treated as such.

I don’t wear inferiority
Like a badge I didn’t earn.
I won’t sit with minds
That think I’m beneath them—
When we all know
I’m the opposite.

You judge my roots
Like they shame me—
But they feed me.
They bloom strength
You’ve only ever tried to steal.

It’s a joke to you—
But my kind don’t spend their days
Belittling you.
They have positive change
They need to make
With their time.

To extricate myself from thoughts
That drown me—
Isn’t harm.
It’s healing.
It’s clear water.

Where I grow
Is not your prison of fear.
It’s the place
They wish they belonged—
Because I carry
What they could never hold.

As messed up as it is,
I like the overbearing kind—
The ones who shadow me like breath,
Their weight, my unexpected muse.

Attention—
Always on my back,
A strange comfort
Like pressure that says I see you.

It’s weird, I know.
But when we’re not connected,
I unravel.
No deal.
No spark.

I don’t know how to care for myself.
But someone else who figures it out—
They hold my key.
Not in chains,
But in knowing.

And when I’m quiet,
Not hyping you,
Not clinging to your orbit—
I’ve already let go.
You’re not my safe space.

But if I smother,
If I breathe you in like air too close—
It means you’re human to me,
Just like the rest.
Not sacred.
Not mine.

Only real.
Only fading.

Silence is the best—
For disappointment’s sting,
For happiness that blooms unseen,
For quiet, steady success.

Cricket songs—my only need,
Soft-spoken wings in midnight air.
They comfort more than crowded cheers,
Airy whispers, gently rare.

Not the noise that claws and clings,
Not the voices filling space—
They try to mend a hollow place
But only deepen everything.

And in the hush,
Judgment fades—
Its echo lost,
Its edge decays.

I walked into the bathroom —
white walls, white tiles, stillness wrapped in gloss.
But there it lay — a maroon button,
startling in its defiance.

It shouldn’t have been there.
Yet, it was.
Out of place.
Unmissable.

The world is like that, isn’t it?
A stark room of sameness,
where anything different is questioned —
pressed into hiding, or tossed away.

To be maroon in a whitewashed world
is to ache with knowing,
to dim your light
just to blend into beige.

But difference is not disorder.
Still — it wounds.
It carves at joy
with invisible hands.

I’ve known that slicing.
Felt it
in my voice, my rhythm,
my stubborn dreams.

It’s a roller coaster —
screws loose, rails screeching,
but my fingers are beginning to grip.
My breath is learning to stay.

I may not match the walls,
but I am the button —
fallen, yes.
But vivid.
Undeniably real.

I know—it’s the worst crime
against oneself.
It shouldn’t be an option.
But still, I find myself
wondering…
Should I?

I breathe
for the giver of my life,
because this life—
it isn’t mine alone.
It’s yours too.

But I’m weak.
I want to stop.
Not like you—
not strong, not shining.
I’ve held on
so long
my eyes forgot
how to glisten.

I can’t complain.
I won’t.

So I’ll stop—
even if just
for hours,
days,
a week…
just to feel
less.

I just had an epiphany—
I can never love another
and still love myself.
The two split me like fault lines,
pulling in opposite truths.

It’s either I let one go—
or lose the other.

The way I do things
gets knotted in translation.
My colours shift like a chameleon,
but in my mirror,
it’s just plain grey.

I’m human, I think—
but meticulous,
a mirror to your flame.
I give what I get,
nothing less.

You are not utensil,
or tool.
I’ll only use you
if you gave me no choice.

Still,
I’d rather melt my ice
than let it burn you.

Aloneness?
That's no stranger.
It’s the oldest room in my soul,
quiet, bare—
but safe.

Bland isn't always bad.
Sometimes, it's peace.
Sometimes, it's me.

Don’t go—
even if life feels worse than a beast’s,
even if breath burns like betrayal.
Hold on.
Hold on tight.

I’ve been holding on—
through storms without names,
through nights that swallow light.

But what comes after?
Is freedom ever certain?
I ask the silence
and it only echoes me.

Still, I slip sometimes.
Carve questions on my skin—
my body, now a lab
of wounds, of want,
of nothing.

Yet still…
still I hold on.

I guess I will—
until the rope
decides
to snap
on its own.

I don't get it—
I couldn't possibly do it right.
They said I'm sick,
And though I’ve denied it,
Deep down... I've always known.

I can't make a single choice
And stand by it.
I can’t love—
Even when I am loved.

No matter how hard I try,
Feeling is the harder path.
So I take the easier one:
To feel nothing at all.

And in the silence of my chest,
Where chaos used to scream,
I find a bitter peace—
Loneliness over everything.

I can't expect them to stay,
When I'm always flowing.
So I've let them go
To find the *** of gold-
At the end of the rainbow
Because I'm always fine
Regardless of how it is.

I am Grey.
I flow. I mirror.
I protect my truth.
I don’t force softness or sharpness.
I choose based on energy.
I don’t belong in boxes.
I create atmospheres.
If you’re real with me,
I’ll hold your heart like gold.
If you try me,
I’ll give you exactly what you deserve.
I don’t fake smiles.
I don’t owe peace to those who disturb mine.
I am enough, as I am, in any room
I walk into.

I don’t belong—
not here,
not there.
Not by face,
nor by tongue,
not by attitude,
or flair.

Not by the way I think,
not by the way I feel.
I moved too much—
the roots never sank,
just grazed the soil
then peeled.

My home isn’t home,
and where I am
isn’t, either.
So I’ve cut the threads
to here,
to there,
and even
to where I’ll finally rest.

I will not beg for place.
Instead,
I will cradle myself
in silence,
in softness—
and comfort myself
into a  still.

I’ve always despised
people who use others—
then discard.
Well… not in that order.

I hate the ones
who forget the souls
that got stabbed
just to keep them safe.

Imagine
the petrification
when I realized
I was one of them.

Crowned an empress
because my wounds are hidden,
my betrayals quiet,
tucked beneath charm
and soft-spoken storms.

One day,
I’ll choose adventure over steady,
fun over loyalty—
and call it growth,
or freedom,
or whatever sells best.

But the truth?

Karma will come
for the ones who did to me
what I did to them.
And somehow,
that feels
reassuring—
that I tasted
what I inflicted.

That I chose shimmer—
and they get the gem
elsewhere.

Between the ones who drain my light
And those I'd bleed for in the name of right,
I'm tired.
Worn thin from folding my edges
To fit into spaces that don’t hold me.
It’s already a battle—
I'm tired
Wrestling a nature that longs for silence,
For the stillness of being alone.
I bore too easily—
Of things, of places,
And yes, of people too.
So bonding?
It’s like tying air into knots.
I try, it's a price to pay for aiming higher
But it slips.
Some things don't change,
Even when I wish they would.
Even when I pray I could.
And the hardest part—
The most brutal weight—
Is knowing
I never meant to hurt them.
Nor myself

What’s this ache that brews in me,
A shadow cast where light should be?
No storm has stirred, no words were said,
Yet something silent bows my head.

I'm wrapped in love, a sacred bliss,
Each glance, each touch, a holy kiss.
I'm held, adored, as though divine—
Still, dread seeps in between the lines.

No cracks have formed within our skies,
No lies, no tears behind the eyes.
So why this pulse, this sinking thread—
This heartbreak haunting me ahead?

Do I paint ghosts where none exist,
Or script a fall in every kiss?
Do I, in peace, begin to roam
To ruins I create from home?

Perhaps I fear the quiet most,
The way it feels like tempting ghosts.
Perhaps it’s me—this war within—
Afraid of love I’m safe in.

They said, out of concern,
“Don’t be too different—
But also be you.”
How do I do both
When they are the same?

To be myself is to be different.
To dim one is to **** the other.
So I stay silent, still—
Caged by the image they built of me.

I want to rise,
Put people in their place,
But I’m scared—
Scared to shatter
Their carefully crafted illusion.

So I freeze.
My inner diva
Glitters behind glass,
While I nod, polite,
And shrink into safety.

Only a few
Get close enough to see my rage—
The irony?
It flares at them the most.
Because I trust them.
Because I can.

I got a good day today—
a jab, they’d say, wrapped in silk and shade.
Too unique, too bold,
both fashionably and workwise—they said.

I simply rolled my eyes,
chin lifted to the sky,
and answered, cool and flat:
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Which really meant,
I don’t give a crap—
not now, not ever,
no space in my mental map.

Still, it might echo an hour later,
not from pain,
but as a compliment wearing satire.
Ask me at dusk if I remember—

Maybe I will,
maybe I won’t.
My subconscious filters waste,
like silk through a comb.

It’s how I am,
how I stay sane,
a mind that lets go,
without needing to explain.

If weeds could thrive—
Grow under duress,
Withstand the stomping,
Cling to minimal breath,
Evade the storm—
Then I want to be one.

No—
I am one.

But the downfall,
It’s a weakness:
Weeds get wiped out faster.
They welcome death
By choking what breathes beside them.
And so do I.
I realize.

I thought my forte was depth—
Roots dug well.
But now it’s dried, cracked,
And starting to burn
Others with it.

When it comes to the world,
I'm a preterm baby—
I know nothing
of tales, adventures,
treachery, or wisdom.

I watch
with hooded, glazed eyes
that only understand
fragments—
splinters
of ideas.

So when I got a glimpse,
it wasn’t something
a cradle-bound soul
could ever decipher.

It's the justification of just—
It’s never just a papercut.
And it wouldn’t be.
It’s never I’m fine.
And it wouldn’t be.

My baby self
is allowed to throw a fit.
I think
every other version
should too.

But I’m only a preterm.
What do I know?

My fantasy self once thought

It's easier to be a shifter
You scream mate
like a second nature

Nothing or no one,
Could detach you from them

How do i know to stick my neck out
For one person for all eternity

Reality check was hard
But I needed all of it

Romance was the last hope
I had in some sort of love,hope

It's hard to be bold
Because i want to
Scratch that need to be taken care of

I wonder sometimes

how it's like this
And then like that
In this world

why others eyes are firmly shut
Others wide open

We see things how we want to
Not how they are

Our lenses are so fogged
So senile yet so young

Because our emotions
Are volatile and full of greed

But are those excuses enough
Knowingly or not
we killed someone's will to pull through

I'm a liar
I do that to protect myself but so does the world

I'm a liar
I lie to people that frighten me

I'm a liar
I shake visibly when I do

I'm a liar
I lie to people I don't trust

I'm a liar
When I lie I beat my self for days,weeks,
months,years to come

I'm a liar
I wish you would understand me so I would stop

I'm a liar
I'm visibly disgusted by myself each moment I utter those words

I'm a liar
It's why I talk sparse

I'm a liar
Because its the only way I'll survive
That or keep mute

So I'll keep being silent or ill keep being the lier i soo hate to protect myself.

But I'm transparent
To the only person Willing to bare themself Free of judgement
To that person
I'm an angel of truth

I'm I crazy
I'm no longer in sync,
With my thoughts
Neither with my words
My emotions are of no consequence either

I'm I crazy
I smirk instead of cry
I chuckle at tragedy
I shrug at despair
I turn at disappointment

I'm I crazy
Can't remember how to truly smile
Oh this is rich coming from a soul
whose laughter was contagious
Whose smile was worth the hassle
Yet I wasn't spared

I'm I crazy
That I can only discern
Hunger and thirst
Save anger
The rest are a blurr

Yes I'm crazy
But I'm also a shell
Whose smile wasn't worth fighting for

She hasn't forgiven
Forgetting was far stretched

Hope wasn't just a privilege
It was a nightmare

Just when she thought
The day wouldn't be so bright
Or the night wouldn't be so dark

They proved her a clown
A comedy laughed on,
On her expense

It became a cycle

To get her to Hope
To get her to believe

And to squash down later

So let go she did

Because that's all she could do

As painful as it might be
Hope was never hers to begin with

My instincts are mostly gamble

They work with me
I work against them

They are not self depriving

But the truth that I cannot see

I want a trait so badly
I ignored the warnings

They did tell me it wasn't mine
Never going to be

But I was desperate
I hoped ,prayed even that I'm right

That I deserve salvation
Even if its for Splitting seconds

To feel the magic I thought I deserve

In the end I'm mostly apologetic
For not listening

I hope for my sanity I remember this
Before taking the next leap

Sleepless nights,Cloudy eyes

All seem to be in season

Heavy head,painful sight

All promising wonders

Frail body, weaker mind
Still holding you straighter

Greyer days Darker nights

All seam to blend perfect

Weeping heart,bleeding souls
All mix to form wonders

All this mix
Still strong enough on the outside

In all this cascade
Needn't more to say
We all don't have it perfect

And all understood it different.

I thought about glue
Generally good holding stuffs

The intended ones I mean

Just not the wrong ones
Not your fingers

When you're stuck doing an art project

Then they become bothersome

I thought about adhesions

Side effect to intervention that's meant to fix a problem

As I sat at the dark corner of my room

With a dull aching pain
A promise of waterfall

I knew the glue once fixed me up

I knew the glue now created a scar while scrubbing

I knew the adhesions now needed fixing up

And I knew the
intervention wasn't needed

They just broke me more

And I wish I never tried using glue

Smile lines or frown line
It's a bit hazzy

They both look same
You couldn't possibly discern them

From a first meeting
You need to be a fixture

To tell which ones fit the puzzle perfectly

I think it's amazing to smile through pain

Look it into its eyes
And flip it off

But I also think it's groundbreaking

To acknowledge not being OK

To be scared
To run away from the slightest uncertainty

And finally let the water-fall flow

I've lost the gift of water-flow

But I'm holding on to the gift of smile

Doesn't matter what spectrum
Fits the case perfectly

She might have lost it
Sticken to what hurt her the most

It's hard to voice it out
But it harder when its him

she wants to tell him
How hard it is to function well

How hurt she is
But she can't

Conflict with the other woman
Sharing her body

But She says she is ok
It's what everybody wants to hear

That she's now in Control
That her body is stil hers alone

But she had lost the power to dream

She's meant to keep him happy
Doesn't matter if she's not

Because that's how she knows to care

It was suppose to be a happy occasion,
I heard

A proud moment
I understood
For every soul linked to me

But I felt the opposite

Felt ashamed

Walking around

Limping,staggering

You could see from miles a way

I was deplicted in every sense

I was a coward I couldn't take the easy way out

So I bleed myself out in a noble way

A way that would allow another being a chance to live

And grant me more suffering

Maybe if I'm lucky my heart might decide to tap out

And I'll get to smile.

I don't know what to call this

A peom or rambling

Maybe more of ranting

I wanna be soft and sturdy like...

Be strong like...

Be compassionate like...

Be independent like...

Put my foot down like...

Be nice like...

But he did say
I'm unapologetical for who I am
Or what I stand for

Mostly caught between
Being nice and being me

Saying no and smiling
But I can be both
Maybe I am both

Woke up with the moon
You could say

Everything was merry
Full of life and energy

Pessimist me was locked

Optimism all the way through

Should have known its short lived

Now it's late

And just as its dark

So are my emotions

All the expectations I had

For me and others
Just doesn't cut it anymore

In the end its me Pessimist me

So goodnight I say
For today is done

I believe everything
Happens in a sequence
In an order

I don't need to be
Versed in religion

To understand that
Every test, every sickness

Is moulding me
Into a more concrete form

One with unshakeable foundation

Through every pain
Along my incision side

Made me softer
To other people's pain
And yet I'm grateful for it

The pain yesterday is worse
Than today's pain

And yet with that I still
Don't glorify pain

I just think it's the only way
That I truly learn

I put a stop
A full stop to all

The trees pass swish

Its shadow was good
Well while it lasted

Then came the sun

For once I stopped
To watch it fall

The cool breeze
Hitting my face dry

Saying hi and bye
All at the same time

Then the moon
Came the stars

A beautiful site
But I guess they would never understand
Each others beauty and fall

And i said this is it
I've watched enough

I didn't know how still
My feelings were,
Till it got Rowdy

Final breath sounds amusing

I know deep down
It shouldn't be

But I've got a dark sense of humour

Chuckling to dark thoughts

Once my charm
Is nothing but harm

That I'm the sun
Or the orbit
With every plannet revolving around

Oh well
With a Shuddering breath

I know better
That it takes 365 for just earth to revolve

And I'm way back as pluto

What have I done?
I asked myself

Ten feets distance
Wasn't enough

Darkness is contagious
It eats you like a prey

But I guess it's late now
Apologies won't cut it

The silence was worth it
The pain is welcomed
That way it feels humane

It doesn't ****,
The ones you love
I guess it finally
exploded

I'm eccentric

An enigma

Very flappable

Stoical sometimes

Rowdy

Quiet to a fault

I've been told

I love all shades wrong

You can't pin me down to a particular category

Notoriety you could say

Beign lambasted comes with the title

Embracing?maybe

But that had me covered in blotches

But I'm happier embracing that

Socially constricted

But my cycle love deeply in ways that is freeing to some

I'm exceptionally jumpy some days

Emotions ?lets say they are tasking

Let's say they are OK

I show them by helping out,reducing their burden

I know I'm strong physically

But I've learned recently

My mind is stronger

Being me is daunting

But no one else could play that role
Better than I do.

From a crosswalk

Everything is sidelined

Not focused

Bruised up,
They focused on the bruises

I said she needed empathy

Justice for what she's going through

But as I mulled it over

They could be wrong

But I could be more wrong

Being a neutral spectator

Isn't entirely bad

But hey!How are u doing?

Could fix a whole lot

But neither of us did that

Because its a crosswalk

"Ill do that" she said

She was so always eager to please

But then quick to anger

"No worries I'll fix it"
She always said

In return she got a warm smile

"I'll babysit for the coming years"she said

"I'll be a listening ear" she said

"What do you need help with " she said

"Have you eaten " she said

"You sick we need a doctor" she said

Then her cup got empty

She couldn't pour anymore

Yet she felt guilty that
she couldn't give,

That she blamed them for it

Her path became thorny

In return she tortured herself

Became her worst nightmare

And then she met him

He promised her love beyond this realm

That she was the purest soul he has met

What she was,still is ,is a torture device designed specifically for her

She should be validated

And he would make her understand that

He became he refill

A therapist she could divulge her secrets to

But she forgot he was human

She forgot her touch was sinister

She tainted him too

And he threw that to her face

And she couldn't blame him,or them  for that

Because there is always more to the story

She might be her author

But what she paints,what she writes

Would never be the full story

Because even she alternates between being a victim in her story

But what stays more constant is she must be the villian in this story

Gratitude,success

Those two words

Had been thrown idly

Through decades freely

Could be in a form of morsel

Or fortune ,family  or health

But its also the will to breath

At every dawn

To forgive or to love your figure

To stand or fall

To cry or to chuckle

To speak or be mute

The mediocre of it alone

Is another thing to pounder

Ive walked alone all through

The silence promising torture

Yet nobody bothered to shadow

And when i did get a shadow

That made the rays less scorching

It became a thing

To condemn my soul

To condemn my company

It Didn't matter

That my smiles were bigger

On some days brighter

Its their own thoughts,
Their own designs

That was most important

Yet its ironic

How clueless

How self absorbed they are

That its my soul

Never theirs

And I've never tried to disarm theirs

Love,romance

The commonest emotion

I've seen ,heard and felt

Pitiful if you ask me

It's beginning blinds us so

That the middle and end is a blur

Just another page we've torn of our lives

The greatest of them fall

So why bother then

It's simple

It's hope when there's non

Even the most eloquent or the majority

Do promises such pleasure

But I haven't seen one
That met such expectations

Just like our fingers

We can't be loved the same

One could be broken person

who is promised a good stitching

Other needs a sense of completion

The purpose of it is still a mystery

That its not worth holding my breath for.